Immortality

Title: Immortality
Author: destinial
Part: 3/?
Rating: NC17/R
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these elves, the history, Middle-earth and my soul. No profit is made - even if there is, I’d be spending it on Tolkien.
Beta: The very wonderful Agie and Athos. *grin*

Part III

Glorfindel looked on at their backs with amusement, “Think he would follow ‘Thel into the bath?” He asked Erestor with his tongue in cheek. “We wouldn’t want the bandages to get wet yet, would we?”

“It would save me some grief if he would. Lust would probably bowl either one of them over and shake them awake.” Erestor turned back to his drawing board to remove the parchment from the clasps and held it to the light.

“Not with ‘Thel’s sense of propriety and obligation. Nothing is going to happen.” Glorfindel closed the door and crossed the room to plant himself in front of the window.

Erestor had designed the room himself when the House was built, requesting that he be given a room hidden from the hustle and bustle. He valued his solitude, and more so than most elves, he was keenly aware of nature’s appeal and thus had a sharper yearning to remain as close to her embrace as possible. The windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling to allow him as much as light as possible - in winter, woollen scarves would be lowered to reduce the glare and the exposure to the cold. Right outside one of the windows is a little fountain, which directed water from the spring outside for his convenience. He had only just figured out the way of ensuring the availability of that water supply even in winter, but not a way to warm the water. The water trickled down to the rocks and grass below.

The natural scenery outside remained unspoilt. Mountain flowers bloomed in a multitude of colours, and a glade of green surrounded a bubbling rock spring. The connection between elven skill and nature’s gifts was seamless, and it served Erestor well to work in the middle of Yavanna’s blessings.

“What propriety and obligations?” the working elf paused before whirling to face Glorfindel. “If he sees hierarchical status as an issue, I’ll personally wring his neck.”

Glorfindel took the glass basin from the ledge and placed it beneath the fountain. He removed his armour and mail. “Give him some credit. He’s never this shallow. I mean, he is unlikely to act if he thinks he’ll hurt his cousin.”

Erestor frowned. “Me? Why’d he hurt me?”

Taking the basin of water, the captain took the cloth from his tunic pocket and wiped his face, sighing in comfort at the refreshing touch. “He would, if you were in love with the same elf.”

It took a while for the statement to sink in but when it did, Erestor’s eyes bulged. “He thinks I’m interested in Lindir?!”

“That was what he told me on the ride back. He asked me how the two of you were doing and he was rather wistful when I mentioned that Lindir had been keeping you company everyday.” Glorfindel shook his hair from the leather band that held it together and wiped the back of his neck.

“Fin, dirty my floor and die a painful death.” Erestor warned. “But Lindir is obviously not in love with me!”

Glorfindel shrugged. “But if he does go after Lindir, you will suffer a broken heart, won’t you?”

“I will not!”

“You do spend a significant part of your time with him.”

“The same amount of time you spend with ‘Thel!” Erestor barked back.

“That is a different story altogether!” Glorfindel turned and threw the water out of the window into the glade below.

“That is precisely Lindir’s half of the story. He thinks the two of you are a couple.” Erestor bit out in frustration.

Glorfindel held the basin and he looked at Erestor in surprise. Confirming that Erestor was not joking, his jaw dropped. “ No….”

“Yes! He was crying in my room because he thought you rode out to meet your lover. And all this while, ‘Thel refuses to make a move because he thinks I’m interested in Lindir. This is ridiculous.”

“You aren’t interested in Lindir?” Glorfindel raised a quizzical eyebrow as he placed the basin back on the ledge.

Erestor threw the charcoal piece at the other elf in irritation. “Of course not! Are you out of your mind?”

“You do allow him into your room when you are working.”

“I allow you in as well. And ‘Thel when he is quiet.”

“You always invite him to dinner.”

“And you are always present.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“You are going to come anyway - why would I invite you?”

“You don’t invite Thel.”

“This is his house! Besides the two of you always show up together. How would I know if you don’t like ‘Thel?”

“That’s a preposterous suggestion. We are as good as brothers. It would be incestuous to even consider him as a lover.”

“About as ridiculous as I imagining Lindir as a lover. It is sacrilegious, bedding your younger brother.”

The two elves, who were nearly shouting at each other, glared daggers before the humour of the situation got to them. Glorfindel softened and chuckled, even as Erestor buried his face in his hands, sighing, “We are behaving like the fools they are.”

“But if we can doubt each other, you can see how they drew such mistaken conclusions.” Glorfindel smiled wryly. He stole Erestor’s comb off the ledge and carefully braided his hair. “It is entirely your fault - if you would venture out of your room more and get a decent love life, this misunderstanding would have never happened.”

“I don’t see you having a love life either, and you spend all your time out of your room,” Erestor shot back. “Come look at this would you?”

Glorfindel returned the comb to its place and walked over to the drawing board, placing a careless hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “My emblem?” Erestor nodded in confirmation.

Picking up the parchment, Glorfindel viewed the sketch with a critical eye. “Can the flowers be enlarged?”

Erestor considered the request, took back the parchment and added a few quick strokes before looking up questioningly at the Lord who smiled in approval, “Thank you, now that is perfect. So that leaves you with the Fountain’s?”

“I wondered if it would be too great a conceit to consider the very fountain itself a mark of my House.” Erestor mused, as he rolled up the parchment to place it aside.

“It probably would be.” Glorfindel moved his hand to smooth Erestor’s hair. He always marveled at the violet hue in the curtain of silk and had often helped Erestor braid his hair as an excuse to run his fingers through it. He indulgently patted the elf sitting before him, a privilege that he privately gloated at - not even the king himself could pat the adviser as one would a child without receiving a death threat.

Erestor sighed - more work - and leaned into the touch. Lindir was good company because he never intruded and his music inspired; Ecthelion was his closest kin and kept him from being buried under a mountain load of work. Glorfindel however simply comforted and supported. Bringing him dinner when he was rushing through whatever work at hand - even if he never did spare any time chatting with the golden lord - reading on the couch while keeping him awake when he needed to work through the night, and on the occasions that his body finally gave up, carrying him to his bed and snuffing the candles out. For all his flippant ways, Glorfindel was a pillar of support who understood his need to work and made room for him to work well.

Glorfindel squeezed Erestor’s shoulder tightly and scolded lightly. “You have to rest, ‘Tor, I can hardly go anywhere in Ondolindë without seeing a piece of your work as it is. You can’t build this entire city!” Tugging one of Erestor’s braids loose, he pulled the elf closer to him and muttered, “You are getting too withdrawn for your own good.”

Erestor sighed. “I cannot help it. This city must be completed as soon as possible, and here I can place my service best.”

Lifting his eyes to meet with Glorfindel’s, he sighed, “This peace - it flutters so within our reach and I cannot help but grasp it tightly, fearful that it would break away.” Resting his head against his companion’s chest, he closed his eyes and whispered, “I fear, Fin. I fear so much.”

Smoothing the dark curtain of hair before him, Glorfindel sought to comfort. His mind hearkened back to the Helcarxe and the trials that had brought them to Gondolin at long last. He remembered how Erestor, quietly as a scribe to Fingon, had kept details of each and every one of their kin who had fallen - a shaking quill dipped in ink or blood continuing the lore of memory. He recalled how his dark-haired friend had knelt dazed in the snow, blindly adding his parents’ names to the song he weaved. Each and every name written down was etched in Erestor’s mind and heart far more deeply than any other elf – and once on Arda, he had refused to compose any more, seeking refuge in the world of diagrams, drawings and numbers. While he had woven lore for the lost, he now built and created for the found.

Sitting down behind Erestor, he hugged his friend close to him, tucking the smaller elf under his chin. He pressed the gentlest of kisses into the silk of hair, and whispered, “Do not live now in fear, ‘Tor - for all the sorrows and grief, for all the pain and anguish you have lived with, this peace now is your reward. As with a bird, grasping it too tightly might well sound the death knell.[1] Let it free; see the beauty of its flight. Heal, my friend - the darkness is behind us. We have prevailed.”

“For how long, ‘Fin? This is but a city and we cannot keep it a secret for all eternity. Immortality is a curse on us, we live long to continuously ask, ‘How long more?’ We have not prevailed; we have merely found temporary respite.”

“Then rest first. Rest your mind, your heart and your soul, and take time to remember every detail of this hard-won tranquillity, the memory of which will tide us through any trial ahead of us.” Glorfindel reached to turn Erestor’s face towards him and brushed his thumb gently over his eyes, persuading them to open. Looking deep into them, he added softly, “Remember all that is joyous, Tor. It will make the painful grief more bearable.”

Erestor felt his head guided into the sturdy shoulder and he closed his eyes against the tears gathering in his eyes. A shudder ran through him as the song of the tragic dead played in his head, a seemingly endless roll of names. Each and every name cursed his collected indifference as he marked their passing with a stroke of the quill - each and every name tore with ferocity that he should have lived when they had not. Feeling the strength emanating from the golden captain, he could not help but feel more vulnerable: the strength is an addictive pull for the advisor who was always counted upon for rational decisions and surest resolve. Choking on a silent whimper, he gave in to the momentary weakness and buried his face into the comfort so graciously offered.

He reached to hug Glorfindel to him and silently wept. He wept for the lost; he wept for the injustice of his own survival; he wept for his loneliness, an orphan among friends; and he wept for the fear of living.

Glorfindel’s heart broke a little as he felt his friend’s tears, leaving him with an indescribable ache. He held the trembling body, continued to comb his fingers tenderly through the mane of hair and quietly whispered, “No one will hear us here, ‘Tor. No one but a friend and the presence of the fallen. They deserve to know your grief, and you deserve their forgiveness and yours. Here is your peace, Tor.”

The whimper escaped him as did the next, and the one after that. Erestor cried as he had never been given the chance to - the Noldor called upon his services too often once they reached Arda. He felt himself make muted screams of agony as he clutched at Glorfindel’s tunic. He felt the soothing circles drawn on his back and he heard vaguely the tune of an old lullaby.

Glorfindel gave what comfort he could. In the tension of adjusting to their new environment and their new roles, they had focused so much on the greater good that they had forgotten themselves. Glorfindel and Ecthelion were at least spared the anguish of seeing their parents die and they were fortunate not to have reached the bloodied Alqualonde until the worst was over, caught as they were in council with their respective Houses. Lindir had the strength of Ecthelion always available to him and had come to some resolution long before, but they had all assumed that Erestor with his quiet resolve would need his own personal space to deal with his grief. They saw how he had found work as a channel and they made sure he did not overwork himself, but in watching his physical well-being, they had forgotten to persuade Erestor to heal emotionally. Erestor had never betrayed this need.

Cradling the crying elf, he waited till the tears subsided and he moved to carry the exhausted Erestor to his bedroom. He had done this often, much more often than he would have liked, but this was the first time Erestor had clung onto him. Nudging the door linking to the bedroom open with his foot, he lowered his precious load onto the simple cedar bed and covered him with the soft cotton quilt. Erestor turned into his pillow to hide the remaining tears and mumbled, “Thank you.”

The golden lord smiled with some regret, leant and kissed Erestor softly on the forehead. Giving the dark hair one parting caress, he left the room quietly, thinking to return only the next morning for his armour.


[1] Now, my good beta, Athos, told me that it should be ‘knoll’ Unfortunately I am confused. Referring to Macbeth, “Hear it not Duncan, for it’s a knell/ That summons thee to heaven or to hell.” I never heard it used with knoll. *scratches head*

Before I got my degree (and had to get a real job thereafter... sigh) I worked in theatre and you guess it, it was Shakespeare. I have nearly all the tragedies imprinted in my mind, and a lot of the comedies. I can’t stand the histories and the Greek circle is among the dreariest. (Yes, I never did like Anthony and Cleopatra.)